Young Writers Society

Bridget Collins -- Soul Catcher

"Good evening, Bridget," said a passerby.

Bridget muttered a, "Good evening," and looked up to see who had said it. Noticing it was just one of the librarians, Dorian, she returned to her book entitled The World Of Calculus. She found it very intriguing how a mathematician could figure out the use for these functions and limits with such detail--and it made sense.

She tapped her lip with her pencil then positioned her notebook to work on some derivatives. "Assume that f of x equals these two equations... "Determine if f is differentiable at x=2, i.e., then determine if f'(2) exists. This shouldn't be too hard. I just gotta--"

"Oh, my Goodness!"

Bridget looked up immediately at what sounded like Dorian screaming. She spun around in her chair as Dorian ran out from behind the desk. "Everyone, get out! Get out now!"

Bridget sighed, wondering if she knew what was hiding behind the front desk. She frowned at her calculus as if trying to determine which was more important. Finally, she dropped her pencil, picked up her staff (which she would get weird looks for, and she'd call it a "cane" if anyone asked), and meandered over to the front desk. Dorian's fearful eyes fell on the approaching girl. "Bridget, no! You have to get out of here! There's something back here, and it's not friendly. I'm trying to save you from--"

"Dorian, you go help the others get outside," Bridget said, putting a hand on the woman's shaking shoulders. "I'll be out in a moment."

"I'm not going out without--" There was a crash in the back. "Come out as soon as you can."

The old woman ran off, and Bridget took a few cautious steps toward the room behind the front desk. The demon was fast approaching the door, so she didn't have much choice other than to jump right into the room and claw the demon back with her soul powered nails. The black creature tripped backward over a fallen table, and Bridget took this time to jump on the table's edge and claw the demon again.

The creature scurried away from the spot too quickly for Bridget to follow. Before she had found the demon, she was kicked in the back onto her face. She rolled over in time to see the demon jump toward her. She flipped backward onto her feet and used her staff to drag a chair in front of the charging demon. It tripped, giving Bridget yet another opening to claw at him with as much force as she could muster--twice. She bounded to the side as the demon threw the chair at her. With another swing of her staff, the demon was tripped onto his bottom. Bridget dropped her staff and finished him off with another swipe.

The demon twitched. Bridget swiped it again.

It didn't move.

Breathing heavily, Bridget retracted her nails. Before she could even begin extracting its soul, her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket. She pulled it out. "Hello?"

"Bridget Collins, you have been summoned by the Organization. Head to the Headquarters in D.C. immediately."

They hung up.

Bridget ended the call and stuffed it back in her pocket. She put her dainty fingertips on the creatures head carefully. She was sort of new to this without having an Exorcist by her side. It was worrisome to know she would have to lug this thing around until an Exorcist found her. Nonetheless, she extracted the soul, gritting her teeth as it flowed through her veins like a shock that reached down to her toes. When it was finished, she let go and fell back, breathing heavy again.

"The function's not differentiable," she breathed and fell backwards on the ground to rest.

Caleb Sandall - Exorcist

Caleb swallowed before pulling the plastic bin closer to him. It had been almost six months. He needed to clean these out. Caleb struggled for a moment with the lid. It didn't seem to want to snap open. With one great heave, Caleb ripped the lid from the box. A cloud of dust spiraled up in the sunlight from the window. Caleb swallowed again.

He watched the dust for a moment, watching it swirl and glitter in the air. This was her dust.

Caleb's phone rang. Tearing his eyes away from the dust, Caleb reached across to grab his phone from the couch.

"Hello?"

"Caleb Sandall, you have been summoned by the Organization. Head to the Headquarters in D.C. immediately."

"What?" asked Caleb, blankly. The phone was silent for a moment, before repeating the sentance. Suddenly the meaning clicked in his head.

"I'll be there in a few," he said quickly before closing the call. Caleb stood up, his legs buzzing with energy. He'd been sitting in Ashley's apartment since the funeral six months ago, waiting for a job.

"Finally," Caleb murmured. He glanced toward Ashley's picture on the mantle. "See you later," he whispered before hurrying out the door.

Liam Moore - Soul Catcher

Oh, now that's nice. I could feel a subtle grin forming on my cheeks as I watched a dark-haired man walking up to the counter. His hair was swept to the side; rugged looking, but not dirty at all. I took a bite out of my cookie, the crumbs falling onto the table. A hot guy, Starbucks cookies, and one of those green coffee stirrer things they have beside the counter. What more could a guy want?

The dark-haired bloke was leaning against the counter now, ordering something. I took another bite out of my cookie. Compared to the ginger one behind the counter, this bloke was practically a God. I wondered if he had any English friends. Maybe I could have introduced him to our culture...

"You kids are incredibly disrespectful." I heard a mutter. "Don't stare."

I turned my head. It was the bloke sitting beside me - he was bald, which amused me. I'd have hated to have been bald... I wiped my hands together, getting rid of any crumbs. Baldie nodded at the counter, folding up the newspaper in his hands. I craned my neck, looking at the end of the queue, where the bloke had nodded. Standing there was a young girl, wearing basically a piece of material as a skirt. She must have been cold.

"No thanks. Too much on top and not enough down below." I laughed, sticking the coffee stirrer in my mouth. "Hey, how old were you when you got bald? I reckon my sister's goin' bald, but I don't think girls can go bald. Can they? Actually, Britney Spears went bald, didn't she? She shaved her head though. I guess that's different."

The man stared at me, frowning. He glanced at the girl in the queue again, clearly trying to figure out what I meant. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

"I'm not bald," I heard the bloke mutter. "I'm balding."

He stood up, glaring at me as though he was about to shoot daggers out of his eyes, just so that they could slice me in half or something. Or quarters... Whatever rocked his boat. Dropping his newspaper into one of the bins, he left the shop, still muttering to himself. I watched him as he let the door slam shut. Yep, definitely single.

I heard a sudden gushing noise, making me snap my head away from the entrance. The sound of the coffee machine always managed to scare the crap out of me. I adored the smell of it though. As it wafted up into my nostrils, I relaxed in my seat, shutting my eyes for a brief moment. I could still hear the murmurs of the people around me, but it was easy for me to soon drown them out. I opened my eyes to see the God-like bloke who was now picking up his order. He thanked the man behind the counter and looked around for a seat.

Please God, if he sits next to me, I thought, I swear I'll start being all Christian and stuff... I'll pray and everything... The bloke was still looking around. I noticed his eyes stop at the other side of the room. He smiled and began ambling towards an almost empty table, a coffee in his hands. I cursed. Oh, I'm not even celebrating Christmas this year, God. I hope you're happy, mate.

There was a sudden vibration in my pocket, almost making me leap out of my seat. If this was another Jehovah's witness calling me, I was going to smash their brains out.

"Yello?" I said, my eyes still fixed onto the hot bloke at the other end of the room.

“Liam Moore, you have been summoned by the Organization. Head to the Headquarters in D.C. immediately.” A woman's monotone voice was on the other end.

"Can I have a double cream and caramel frappuccino first?"

"... I suppose..."

"Good! 'Cause there's this guy who's just sat away from me, right, and he's lush. I wanna buy somethin' and use it as an excuse to find a new place to sit, and you know, if I'm gonna buy somethin', it may as well be a frap. Do you li-" I paused. "Hello? Hello...?"

I slammed my finger on the red button. Bitch! The dang woman hung up on me! Someone wasn't getting a frappuccino this afternoon. I shrugged. She sounded half dead anyway. Sitting back in my seat, I glanced down at my phone. Demons and shit. Cool.

Bart Matthews--Soul Catcher

"Bart!" I stirred under the duvet, but I refused to open my eyes.

"Bart! Don't make me come up there!" I stirred again, and shouted back: "And what if you do?"

There were footsteps and I sprang up, wide awake. I managed to haul all my weight against the door at the same moment that Tanya grabbed the handle and pushed at the other side. We struggled against each other, me trying to keep the door closed (wishing my lock hadn't broken last month) and she trying to get it open.

Eventually she said from the other side: "What if I do, eh?"

"You're such a bully, Tan."

"And you're such a dunce, Bart. You didn't even bother asking why I was calling you."

"It's probably nothing important."

"Oh no, not all; next time your phone breaks, and the Organization calls you on the house phone, I'll just let Dad answer."

I opened the door wide and she nearly fell over. I laughed, and tried to run past, but she stuck her foot out and I went down. As annoying as she was, I knew she wouldn't give my secret away to Mum and Dad or anyone else.

"One-up, little brother. One-up. And next time you decide to show yourself to the world," she called to me as I got up and bounded down the stairs, "please wear something more than your boxers."

"Joy of being a man, sis. We can run around half-naked and still look good."

Downstairs I went to the kitchen, where I greeted Dad with a high-five. He was making himself some toast, and though I'd been used to this scene for several months now, I missed the days when he'd be rushing to get to work early. That was before he'd been laid off though. Damn the recession. At least Mum was still teaching.

I grabbed the receiver which lay on the counter beside the microwave; the cord stretched as I held it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Bartholomew Matthews, this is a summon from the Organization. Proceed to the Headquarters in DC immediately."

I put the receiver back down and sighed.

"In the early hours
Of God's new morn
I'm called to duty
A hero is born."

"Keep that up," Tanya said as she came in and grabbed a slice of toast from Dad, "and you might aspire to be as bad as Blake was great one day."

"Shut up."

"Be nice to your brother, Tanya," Dad said between mouthfuls of toast. He turned to me. "That was good son. I don't understand that bit about duty and heroes though."

I sighed again.

Santana | Exorcist | The UnderHeat - DC

“Christ, Santana, he’ll see you.”

Oh, she knew; but decisively poised between the thump of a grinding bass, the neon strobe lights, and the patches of fog on the floor, Queen Santana was invisible to his eye. She wondered, of course, if the angular, sleek prince would mind if she stared; her lips, stained in Wine Berry-17, hazarded a silent, smooth “No,” as affirmation.

Setting her “Latin Queen Especial” on the table, Miss Exorcist ‘05 left her legion of minions and conspired a plot against the heart of one fatal attraction across the room.

Fourteen steps gave her the chance to sway her hips to the left seven times; that’s all she needed. On number nine, he caught her out of the corner of his eye. Catnip screamed the mind of the queen, and she stopped at the bar three seats down from him, nestling her hips slowly into the curvature of the stool.

Step two came and flew by like a school of butterflies as Santana lavishly tossed her hair to the side, drawing three pairs of eyes to her Argus piercings.

Target boy got up from his seat and inched closer, one strut at a time. From the corner of the Queen’s eye, she could see cool blue eyes, like bathing in the Mediterranean in the springtime. Santana slowly turned her head up, basking as the cool waves splashed between them, primordial chemistry in the making.

“You look lonely,” he whispered, his voice the texture of the stubble on his chin. A large hand covered the Queen’s, and she turned her lips into a grin.

“You look confident.” Subtly, Santana gave him a taste of her fiery accent.

“Let me buy you a drink, Miss Latina.” She was intrigued by how he seemed to paint his words, just brushstrokes on her canvased perception. His tone dropped down to a soulful whisper as he added, “I'd love to see those hips on the dance floor." The Queen's loamy eyes narrowed before she rose, taking his bravery by the hand and into the neon mesh of clubbers below.

The minute they hit the floor, the bass shook her to her core. Santana moved with enough heat to ignite a bonfire; Braveheart the Target Boy took her by the hips and turned The Queen around, thrusting a palm down on her ass.

To Santana, the rhythm froze. Time, the dancers, everything stood suspended until her nails--laced with the street-corner special*--grazed his cheek. Braveheart reeled backwards into a circle of grinders, falling to the foggy neon floor. Santana spouted a geyser of popping Spanish swears as she crossed out of the dance floor. Luckily, the Queen's Legion obliged.

They stood at Santana's Mustang for an hour, sharing a round of cigarettes and lacing their stories from the night with more cyanide for taste.

"You don't carry around that sorta ass without expectin' a little thwack now and then, chicita," Valerie, Santana's right-hand jester snapped. The other three responded in laughs and snaps. Santana just stared off across the crowded streets, watching the traffic down near the old apartment complexes.

"Somethings going down out there," she said, and squinted her eyes in the distance. Smoke crept through her lips and into the cold air.

"That's where Kareem used t'live, isn't it?" One of the faceless two stepped out to the sidewalk, shaking her head out of fear.

"Y'all can go check out whatever crime scene you want to, but I'm headin' out." Valerie sneered and grabbed the keys from Santana's middle fingers. "I'll come pick y'all up when y'all done playing MacGyver." Two others laughed, but Santana looked over to Faceless One.

"Yeah," Santana whispered. "Take the girls home. I'll call you when we're ready."

It wasn't long until Santana and FO were standing behind police tape, watching police run in and out of the complex like it was some sort of treadmill. Santana sneered. "I don't think Kareem is here, girl." Her phone began vibrating in her bag, but she let it go off until it quit. "If he is, then maybe you should pray."

Faceless One nodded. "You're right, Tana. He couldn't be here. He just...can't." Santana caught the glimmer of a teardrop on her dark skin. "But I swear to God, if Kareem is hurt, whoever did this will feel the vengeance of Rosa Maria Sanchez della Valencia."

Rosa, Santana thought. Remember that.

Rosa clenched her fists and turned away from the crime scene just before EM's carted out a body on a stretcher.

Oh God, Santana thought. Oh God.

The body was covered in a white sheet from head to toe, only breaking the bleak whiteness with bloodstains in the middle...in the heart. Santana took Rosa by the hand and led her away down the block, taking out her phone to call Valerie.

One Missed Call

Santana sighed and dialed up Valerie's number, biting down on her lush plumbago lips as she waited for it to connect.

"Hello," said a flat voice on the other side.

"Who is this?" Santana asked, her eyebrows arched.

"You missed our call, Miss Velásquez."

"I don't know who you are."

"You've been summoned by the Organization; your techniques are needed."

Santana froze. Her eyes shifted to the hand holding her phone, the hand with her mark. "Yes ma'am," she whispered, and the line died.

"Rosa," Santana whispered, "I have to go. Something just came up, chicita."

Rosa looked up to her and nodded, wiping tears away with her sleeve. "I'll take the bus home. Maybe I can find out more about Kareem."

Santana's chest tightened before she feigned a nod, smiling all the way. "He will be fine," she said, and clutched Rosa into a hug, burying the shorter girl's cheek in her bosom. "May the saints watch over you both."

___________________________________________________________________________________
*Street-Corner Special: Tiny slits of razor blades manicured to the fingernails.

Rena Lowe. Exorcist

"Bloody demons." Rena muttered to herself as she sprinted through the cinema foyer, eyes trained on the small, capering figure just ahead of her. Around her, teenagers were screaming, mothers were reaching for their children and even the cinema staff were grouping together under the counters, saving their own skins. She wouldn't have blamed them, but this demon was a relatively small one, and obviously had only entered their world very recently, if it's red eyes were anything to go by. Either that or it was a very unsuccessful demon.

It's skin was a sickly yellow, broken up by violent green spines that seemed reminiscent of a baby dinosaur. It had trapped a group of people in the confectionery corner, they were huddled together by the candy-floss - some stared at the demon in fear, others hid their faces from it. If I can't see you, you can't see me. Rena smiled wryly, remembering the flawed logic of childhood.

The demon was reaching out to a nearby girl, its spindly fingers closing around her wrist limp with fear. Rena pulled out a throwing knife from the leather strap at her thigh and aimed it at the demon's shoulder, not pausing as it hit its mark. The demon spun around, red eyes gleaming as it readied itself for her. Seeing the silvery spikes extend out of her feet, Rena wished she had a soul weapon that could kill from further away - soul bullets, for instance, would make life so much easier.

Letting out a cry, the demon launched at her, and she paused mid-run, bringing up her foot and kicking out so that she met the demon in its flight. The spikes cut through its body easily and Rena twisted her body around, slamming the demon to the floor with a bang. Its yellow head lolled, and Rena got the short burst of satisfaction she always felt when a demon lay dying - it repulsed her, this happiness at the death of a creature, but felt justified when she remembered the demon's plan with that girl's soul.


Later, when the pile of dirt on the floor had been cleaned up and the cinema staff has stuttered their thanks whilst insisting that they really did have it under control, Rena tripped back to the guy who'd asked her to the cinema in the first place.

"Sorry about that!" she said brightly, smiling up at his shell-shocked expression. "Don't you hate it when work gets in the way? Such a bore. And we were having a lovely conversation as well. What were you saying?" Not that Rena really minded - sometimes she felt overwhelmingly bored by silly boys and their monotonous conversation. Demon chases were scary, they freaked her out, but the rush of adrenaline and job satisfaction was sometimes preferable to a mediocre date and conversation.

"Uh."
Poor boy really is having trouble. Rena beamed again, hoping perhaps this would encourage a more eloquent insight, but was distracted by The Buggles singing about video stars from her pocket. "Hello!" she said, putting the phone to her ear. "Who is this?"

"Rena Lowe, you have been summoned by the Organization. Head to the Headquarters in D.C. immediately." The voice stopped and Rena was left grinning inanely at a dead line. She grimaced at the guy, still silent next to her. "Well, that was work I'm afraid. Urgent business, you know how it is. As I said, real shame, I thought we were really starting to connect." She began to walk backwards out of the cinema, still speaking. "But no matter, if it's meant to be it's meant to be!" Now she was shouting from the door. "Hey, maybe we can do brunch sometime!"

The Organization, finally. The fight earlier had left her buzzing, ready to fight. Rena had no idea if she'd feel the same tomorrow after a groggy flight to DC, but no matter. Fighting demons was what she was good at, and she couldn't wait.

Adam Pierce – Soul Catcher

My teeth racked against my bottom lip. Fingers tightened on the steering wheel of my black car as I felt the drainage in my chest heighten. I shouldn’t have taken a soul, not when I didn’t have an exorcist by my side. I groaned, rolling my eyes back. Suddenly there was a honk and I noticed that my car had slightly turned into the other lane. Quickly, like James Bond, I swerved the car into its proper place.

The woman in the car next to me gave me a deathly glare. I blew her a kiss. Driving from Chicago to D.C. took about ten hours, going at high speeds. No, I haven’t been given a ticket yet, thank you. I knew I was asked to head Headquarters immediately and that I could have taken a plane but honestly, I hated plane rides. The seats were way too uncomfortable and I never, not once, received the opportunity to sit next to a hot chick. It was always ugly old women or nasty smelling men that reeked of cow dung wearing some type of weird hat. Where in the world do you live?

I gritted my teeth as another pang of pain tried to swallow my heart. We were trained to endure this pain, but this soul was especially reckless. The longer we had it inside, the more energy it drained from us. What a world, while souls sucked the life out of Soul Catchers, it could give energy to the demons. Now that was messed up.

The Organization held an ‘office’ building about twenty stories high in the heart of D.C. The entire building looked like a black mirror that reflected the sky, giving everything in front of it a dark look. It was gloomy, boring but strangely beautiful at the same time. I parked my car in the special underground parking lot connected. Of course, I had to give the big guy guarding the entrance my special I.D. before they let me in. I remember that guy, I don’t know his name but he’s been working as the guard since I entered the Organization eight years ago.

“Nice seeing you again,” I said to him.

“….”

My friendliness faded. “Yeah, me too.” Weirdo.

I clicked the button on my keys and locked the car. It was probably going to be here for a while. With a smile, I walked across the dimly lit underground parking lot to the glossy black elevator. Why yes, the Organization did have to make everything look particularly shiny and black.

The elevator gave a little ding and closed. I listened to the mellow music the elevator played. Wait, wasn’t this the same music they played last year? Yes, yes it was, oh - and the year before and the one before that too. I let out a silent laugh. God, they were so old-age. Why couldn’t they get something like Woohoo by Christina Aguilera? I rolled my eyes, wanting to smash that stereo or more preferably that guy who couldn’t afford to buy another CD. My foot tapped the ground as the elevator continued to shoot up another few floors before stopping at level six. Usually, it was the main hall where they’d have us gather so I assumed I should be heading in that direction. I made my way down the lavish hall. The same old, same old, they seriously need a new interior designer. Although, they did a heck of a job keeping the white walls clean and the silver, steel lights from being eaten by rust.

I let out a gasp, crouching slightly as I felt my insides tear, like a thousand claws were trying to rip their way out of my ribcage. “Jesus, too long,” I muttered. I should’ve taken a plane. At this rate, I would only be able to last until nightfall before I’d faint. Not die, exactly but faint. I wasn’t that weak.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the white tunnel. I looked back to see a girl heading in my direction. I knew, it was like a six sense that most of us had, we knew the difference between a Soul Catcher and an Exorcist and she…she was an exorcist. With a clenched jaw, I forced a smile up my cheeks. “Hey there, could you lend me your hand? I need it…badly.”

Dmitri Abrams - the exorcist

Dmitri’s black mustang pulled up to a spot in the employee parking lot under a dimly lit light. Several seconds later he stepped out of the vehicle, dressed in a long black coat with the collar up, a white shirt, loose grey slacks and work boots. Ever since he was a kid, he’d taken pride in his appearance, it was something his mom taught him that he held on to, weird considering his profession...

Running a hand through his messy black hair, he pulled out his I.D and stepped into the building, heading straight into the gloomy looking lobby. He'd barely stepped inside when a familiar looking security-guard narrowed in on him.

“I.D,” was all the guy said to him. Dmitri noticed how the man had the same frown on his face since he’d last seen him.

Dmitri raised a brow in a bemused expression. “C-mon, Viktor, how many times have we talked about this, you have to say please,” he said with his trademark smirk plastered across his face.

As usual he got no response from the guard, just a death glare and a repeat of the word “I.D.”

Visibly amused, Dmitri handed over his card which the guard ran through a machine before handing it back over. Dmitri placed it back inside his coat-pocket before heading for the lift.

“Nice seein’ you too, big guy!” he smirked, giving the body-guard a cocky salute as the lift-doors opened and he stepped inside. He could see the guard roll his eyes before the doors closed.

The guy loves me, really, Dmitri smirked.

Liam Moore - Soul Catcher

I'd been in Starbucks for hours and hours now and I could see the sky blackening through the windows. The hot bloke hadn't even sat down in the end. Instead, he'd left the shop, sipping his coffee. Oh, God was getting sued like hell. I knew he had a thing about gays and that, but hey, cut a guy some slack. Besides, I was thinking of trying the whole straight thing out anyway. At this rate, I'd have no choice but to do so.

Grabbing my guitar from where it was leaning against the table, I headed for the shop entrance. I put the guitar over my shoulder, shoving the door open. Okay, the organisation is that way. I looked down the road in front of me. It should take me twenty minutes or so to get there...

As I made my way towards the large building, the sound of beeping cars and curse words filled my ears. I loved aggressive Americans; they amused me. It was a damn good thing I was on holiday in D.C at the moment, otherwise it would have taken me a hell of a long time to get to the organisation.

After stepping out of one of the alleyways, my sight was welcomed by a chic office-like building. I hadn't been to the place many times before, but I remembered it clearer than glass. I was used to boozy apartments that smelt like cigarettes and cheap air fresheners. Compared to them, the organisation building was literally a palace, not that I was complaining. Not at all.

I whistled cheerfully to myself as I jogged down the steps that lead to the underground entrance of the building. Like usual, the guard was there. I rather awkwardly pulled my I.D out of my guitar case on my back. Now to have some fun...

"Hey, babes!" I beamed, reaching the guard.

"I.D" His face remained blank, but I noticed his eyes glance at my face for a second.

And there was me trying to lighten his mood. I suppose I'd have to get a little more personnel then. I handed him the card in my hand, leaning in closer to him.

"So, how 'ave you been? 'Ave you lost weight?" I winked at him. "You 'ave, ain't you? You look great!" He handed me the card back. "Another hundred pounds, and you'll be on the fast track to finding someone to keep you warm in bed."

Nothing. Quite frankly, he looked as obese as ever, maybe even fatter. Talking to that bloke was like talking to a goldfish. A dead one. Ah well, at least I tried. I tapped his shoulder as I wandered towards the shiny elevator at the end of the car park.

"I'm great in bed, you know!" I called back at the guard as I pressed the button beside the elevator.

I started laughing to myself as the black doors gracefully slid open. I stepped inside. I could just see the guards face as the doors began to close again, and boy was I amused. He was staring at me as though I had a growth on my face or something.

"I can sleep all day!" I shouted just as the doors slammed shut. Dang, I'm good.

After travelling up many floors, the elevator finally came to a stop. The elevator music was strange. It reminded me of the time I went to a drag queen bingo session. They had this annoying, yet catchy music playing in the background. Obviously, there weren't any drag queens in the lift with me though. That would have been funny.

There was a quiet ding and the elevator's doors opened once again. As I stepped into the hallway, the smell of leather and expensive interior practically hit me in the face. Everything was rather black... They needed some colour. I wasn't going to complain though; it was better than a sofa that had springs popping out of it. I turned the corner and froze. I love you, God. I frickin' love you.

He was standing at the end of the hallway: the impossibly hot bloke I'd seen in Starbucks earlier. There was some girl with him, an exorcist, I think. I didn't take much notice. I watched as the exorcist raised her hands onto the area where the guy's heart was, a rainbow of colours and lights forming on Mr-I'm-so-hot-even-trees-fancy-me's chest. As suddenly as it appeared, it began forming into a pure white light as it began seeping out of his chest. I'd like to see that chest... Who knew that extracting souls could be so hot?

The hot bloke sighed in relief as he thanked the exorcist. She smiled in return. The one with the biggest grin on their face was me though as I leaned against the neutral wall. The girl began to walk away as the guy ran his hand through his messy hair. Suddenly, he snapped his head in my direction, making my heart leap.

"Who are you?" he asked rather bluntly.

"Liam," I replied, swallowing. "Liam, uh, Liam Moore. I got a call tellin' me to come 'ere. I drunk a frap before I came 'ere. It was kinda lumpy. Do you like 'em? You look like you do, not that I know you or anythin'." I stammered. "Not tha' I wouldn't wanna know you; you seem like someone I'd like to know. Not in a weird way though... I..." My voice trailed off.

Real smooth, Liam.

Bridget Collins -- Soul Catcher

With my staff in hand and my bag of books in the other (World of Calculus, History of the Extreme, World of Myth, and Your Neighbor, Fysics for a bit of light reading), I walked onto the bus, dropping some change into the meter. She exchanged a light greeting with the bus driver and looked around for an open spot on a very crowded bus.

"Take my seat, ma'am," a young man said, standing up and lifting his hand. "I kept it warm for you."

Bridget smiled politely, ignoring the distasteful grin of his. "Thank you very much."

As soon as she seated herself, the bus started rolling. The boy stood right next to Bridget at an uncomfortably close distance, and suddenly started talking her ear off. Bridget's manners got the best of her, so instead of reading Fysics she smile and nodded during his conversation.

After hearing about his five ex-girlfriends, his stupid manager who threatened to fire him if he didn't pick up the slack (which didn't make sense to Bridget since the guy implied he was constantly talking to his employees rather than working), and his brand new fish that was getting beat up by the others, she fled the bus at the appropriate bus stop, saying a light good-bye on her way. She wasn't quite sure if she saw the bus driver give her a sympathetic smile.

Bridget walked the rest of the way. Walking during dark in D.C. was a terrible idea, but it wasn't a far distance. It was like heaven's gates when she finally arrived. Safety was just on the other side.

"I.D., please."

"Oh, sorry!" Bridget pulled out her I.D. from her back pocket, and the guard let her in. Before Bridget took even one step, she doubled over so fast, she fell to her knees. The guard rushed out from his post and tried helping her up. It took a moment and a few breaths before she felt fit enough to keep walking.

"I can call an exorcist--"

"No, really. I can make it," Bridget said, taking another deep breath. "Thank you though. Have a nice night!"

With her free hand on her diaphragm, Bridget made her way to the elevator. Her head lay against her staff as she waited for it. She'd have to improve her stamina at some point in her life. Why she was still weak, she had no idea, but working without an exorcist was almost suicide at this point. And the delay in the elevator's arrival wasn't helping her situation. Someone must have taken it all the way up or something. All she could do was control her breathing and hope another painful strike didn't kill her.

Santana Velásquez | Exorcist

“I’m likin’ that whip, little taquita...” Santana closed her eyes; humiliation was one deal, but repeated humiliation just walking down the isle of a godforsaken bus...was a bit extreme. But really, she had brought it on herself; the whip wrapped around her belt loops, it was a magnet for heat and testosterone. And it just so happened that the only available seat on the bus was in the very back. Santana shuffled her hips through the crowded isle, stumbling over a stray foot as the bus jumped forward. Under her breath, she muttered several choice words for the owners of every pair of eyes on her then.

Carefully, she sat down in the back of the bus beside a man in a black robe with a white collar. It didn’t register at first, but as soon as she took a quick look at hi-- “Good afternoon, Father.”

“Afternoon, child.”

Santana sighed and smiled gracefully, folding her hands in her lap. “Why are you not at work in the Lord’s house this afternoon?” She was half-sarcastic, but it was a conversation.

“Well, one of my dearest friends has a son who has recently been oppressed by a demonic spirit...” Santana’s breath caught in her throat. “...so I am on my way there now to perform an exorcism.”

It always killed Santana to hear of holy men exposing themselves to the violent, to the rash and wicked denizens of the afterplane. And despite the incredible threat they posed to all who interact with them, the government refused to restrict clergy from their small practices. Santana remembered one time in the Academy when a Clergyman interfered with a mission, how empowered the malevolent spirit became...it sickened her, and nearly destroyed her partner-in-training. Reserved, Santana asked him, “What authority do you exorcise by, Father? By what name do you cast out your demons?”

The man, balding and with wrinkles on his forehead, smiled softly and peered at Santana through his glasses. “I act in the name of the Deliverer, dear child.”

Santana closed her eyes, feeling a soft burning on her wrist. “And Father, do you seek counseling for yourself after these exorcisms?” The man shook his head. “How many have you done recently?”

“Three.”

Santana peered off to the side, out the window at the cars that zipped past. A knot formed in her throat, and she blinked away sympathetic tears. As her gaze returned to him, she feigned a smile. “May I please pray with you, for your heart as you enter such a tumultuous plane?”

The man nodded assuredly. “Of course you may, child. We may pray together.” He held out his hands, but Santana smiled softly and placed her hands on his chest, closing her eyes. As she felt the transaction taking place within him, she whispered a facade prayer.

“Father,” she whispered, “protect this man and his soul as he commits himself to your work.”

Released.

“Keep him safe as he applies his body for your Kingdom’s consummation.”

Released.

“And please guard him from malevolence as he rests in sweet peace.”

Released.

“Es en el nombre de Dios,” whispered the Latina, “oramos.”

The Father said, “Amen.”

By chance, the bus stopped there, and Santana rose to her feet. Keeping her weapon out of his sight, she nodded to him, wished him a good day, and trudged through and out of the bus. As the bus pulled away, Santana thought of fake prayers and the truth behind spiritual warfare, about how the weak committed acts in the name of an invisible being, and about how there were so many men just like the Unnamed Father who were Soul Catchers in their own rights, but without aid.

Santana wondered, then, where she fell in the mix of everything. Perhaps she was a saint in that light, Santa Santana.

After a good deal of walking (with more whistles and cat calls, of course), she reached the parking garage of the Organization. Santana trudged through the underground lot four stories down before coming face-to-face with her all-time favorite security guard. “Good afternoon to you, Viktor.” Santana flashed him a winning smile and got a brief reciprocal in return. “How is my favorite Security Guard in D.C.?” His smile slowly vanished as he regained his composure.

“I.D., please.” She knew it was a front, just like always. She handed him her card on which she flashed another winning smile, and the mountain of a man smiled back. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Velásquez,” he mumbled, and Santana clapped with excitement. Before strutting off, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, tapping it three swift times before leaving him.

She always loved getting a reaction out of him, and it was her winning game around the Organization. When Viktor got a pay deduction? They sent Santana. When his mother was put in the hospital? They sent Santana. She was his angel in Latin skin, and everyone knew it.

She got to the elevator and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Such a beautiful blond chicita, seemingly lifeless while awaiting the elevator. Santana leaned against the metallic wall, eyeing the girl slowly. “Good afternoon, sweetie!” Her accent blazed between her words, drawing the girl’s attention to her lush eyes. “You seem like you could use a bit of a han--”

Santana lunged forward as the girl’s balance tipped to the side, nearly sending her to the ground. Luckily, the Latina caught her before she could crash, supporting her weight on her hip as she brought them slowly to the ground. “Oh, dear. You’ve been working.”

“Alone,” the girl droned. Even her hair seemed to be losing vitality.

“That simply won’t do,” Santana cooed, and smiled down to her. “Hold still, and I’ll free you right up.” Santana released the girl to sit up on her own and closed her eyes, placing a hand over the girl’s heart. With a quick singe to her wrist, Santana took in the sound of the girl’s relieved sighs.

“Thank you,” she said, gathering her staff to her and slowly rising. “My name is Bridget, and I’m a Catcher.”

Santana grinned, rising to her feet and brushing herself off. “I am Santana, and clearly, I am an exorcist.” The two just smiled for a moment.

“I take it you’ve been called in, just like I have.”

“Si,” she sighed. “It has been a year or two since I have been used here. It is sad, really.”

The girl nodded. “I’m rather freshly out of training, really.” She shook her head. “But they say I’m good, and I am very practical at what I do.” Bridget beamed, clacking her staff against the floor. The elevator arrived. After the two ambled in, Santana caught the sight of Bridget’s nails.

“Oh, Dios miyo those are beautiful!” She reached down and held up Bridget’s hand, admiring her nails. “You must tell me who has done this for you...”

The girl smiled brilliantly, ready to answer before the elevator hummed to a stop.

As the sliding metallic door swished open, Santana breathed in the warm office air. It smelled just as it always had--like paper clips and water coolers, only there was a fresh scent of released souls and...pheromone? “Come on, chicita; there are people to see!”

Bart Matthews--Soul Catcher

I shook in my seat as the helicopter touched down on the rooftop. I'd been asleep, and this had just woken me up. It was an Organization copter. Just the thing to get from London to DC when you haven't got the money for a ticket.

I put on my backpack (I'd haphazardly stuffed a few clothes inside) and walked to the exit; the pilot didn't acknowledge my leave. I swear, some of the Organization workers were so unresponsive.

It was windy up on the roof, and I soon went inside, descending the staircase. It was three flights to a level with an elevator, but I got stopped on the first. There was some guy in my path. He looked vaguely similar to another guard I knew worked on the bottom floor, and I wondered why on Earth the Organization would post a security guard all the way on this floor. Were the thieves going to fly to the rooftop or something?

"I.D.," the guard demanded. I stuffed my hand in my right pocket, then patted down my left, then checked my back pockets. The guard gave me a stern look. I grinned at him, taking my backpack off and rummaging through it. Five minutes later, I found it at the very bottom of my bag and handed it to the silent guard.

"Good thing I found it, eh?" I said to him as he handed back my I.D. and I packed my things back into my bag. "I mean, if I hadn't, who knows how long we'd have been standing here? Eh?"

He did nothing but step aside.

Five more minutes later, the elevator had arrived at Level Six, and I stepped out, suddenly wary from my journey. I had entertained the idea of being the first to arrive, as impossible as this seemed, and so I was mildly surprised to see a group of people at the end of the white hallway.

Caleb Sandall - Exorcist

Caleb walked down into the parking garage entrance, his hands shoved clumsily in his pockets. Caleb gritted his teeth as he walked steadily through the familiar place. He needed to get out of this damn city. Everything was too familiar.

A sharp cough sounded from in front of Caleb. Caleb glanced up and noticed the old, bald guard standing at the doorway.

"I.D., please."

Caleb looked at him in confusion for a moment, before realizing he had the plastic card clenched in his hand. "I - Here."

The guard glanced at it, bored. "This I.D. is expired. And you are not a woman, sir."

"A woman?"

The guard plucked the card from Caleb's hands and held it up to the light. "Ashley Burnk. 22. Female. Soul Catcher. Medium - "

"That's enough!" yelled Caleb, clenching his fists. The guard glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. Caleb tore open his wallet and threw his ID card at the guard. The guard's hand snapped out to catch it, and Caleb took to opportunity to snatch Ashley's old card out of his fat hands. Ignoring the guard's protests, Caleb wrenched the door open and walked into the building. He jammed his thumb into the elevator button roughly, stabbing the blinking light until the elevator doors slid open. There it was, the same oldies music that had always played. It made Caleb sick.

The elevator doors slid shut around Caleb as the box rumbled upward. Caleb tapped his fingers on the railing impatiently as the elevator made its slow ascent. Finally, it rumbled to a halt. Caleb stabbed the button to force the doors to open, but the doors didn't respond. Caleb frowned and jammed the button again. With a frustrated growl, Caleb kicked at the elevator door.

Ding. The doors hissed aside. Caleb froze, glancing up into the room. All heads seemed to be turned toward him, staring. They had obviously heard Caleb kick the elevator door. Flushing, he fixed his gaze on a free couch in the corner of the room to sit on. Caleb sank into the seat wearily, resting his head in his hand.

Caleb told himself to get a grip. He needed to look like a capable exorcist. Spontaneous bouts of door-kicking wasn't going to show them that. With massive effort, Caleb lifted his head out of his palm. He didn't meet anyone's gaze, istead fixing his eyes on a group of leaves from the office plant that were fluttering in a draft.